


No Man's Land

by copperdream



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: British Army, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Dream Sex, M/M, Mind Games, Minor Original Character(s), OR IS HE, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ralph casually losing his mind, Ralph is so done with Jack's shit, Rivalry, Romance, Sadism, Self-Destruction, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, War, dream-Simon being whack, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29493150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperdream/pseuds/copperdream
Summary: “Don’t you dream about it?” Jack’s nose was almost touching Ralph’s, and Ralph stared into his eyes as if they were a vortex to someplace mad. Ralph became hyper-aware of the sweat that still clung to him. They breathed into each other, stared into each other, like they were part of the same existential organism.“About what?” But Ralph already knew what Jack was talking about.
Relationships: Jack Merridew & Ralph, Jack Merridew/Ralph
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	1. Beat

> "The heart jungle drumbeat finds its voice in love and matchsticks" - Isabel Yosito

**1.**

It had never left him.

Ralph’s pulse was a drumbeat.

“Why must you go?” His mom was wringing a washcloth in her hands. The one she liked, with the duck on it. Since Ralph had come home from the island, she knew he’d changed, but she couldn’t understand the real inner workings of how his psyche had fractured on that beach. It’d been—ironic—now that he was old enough to know the meaning of such a word.

He felt he’d truly snapped the moment he’d looked up at the naval officer. His saviour. The whole journey home his heart had felt light and fleeting, and he’d avoided the other boys with an urgency that confused the seamen. He’d barely spoken to the adults aside from his learned-behaviour polite responses and the “sirs” that were wrenched out from beneath layers and layers of sand and fire and violence. Back to respectable society.

And he’d been happy, in a distant way. He’d gotten what he’d ached for on that island.

To go home.

But he’d shed his skin on that island, and when he’d returned to civil life, he couldn’t put it back on again. It didn’t fit.

“I told you, Ma.” Ralph was fastening the watch around his wrist. “I gotta serve my country, is all.” He lifted his chin and gazed at her with sharp eyes. “I’m a man now. Ain’t that what’s expected of me?”

“A man.” His mother shook her head and tugged at the duck. “You’re barely nineteen. What society deems _a man,_ I just—”

“Ma.” He crossed the kitchen to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He was taller than her, though when that had happened exactly he couldn’t place. One day it’d just been so. “I wanna make Dad proud.”

His mother sunk into herself. “Your father’s gone, Ralph. He wouldn’t want you going out the same way he did.”

He took a step back but she snatched him by the elbow.

“Ralph. I thought I lost you once already.”

He touched her hand and let the contact last, and then he pushed her fingers away, gentle as he could. “I don’t have a choice.”

But even if he explained it, she wouldn’t understand. She had not been there, at that time, in those trees with the metallic taste of blood on the tongue. He had been bewitched by that island, and—

He pulled further away from his mother as a mess of dirty red hair and fierce eyes invaded his mind’s eye.

His throat tightened.

The train to the Dale Barracks near Cheshire, England was a couple hours ride at most, and he had to head out now in order to make it. Tomorrow would mark his first day of training in the British Army.

He hugged his mother goodbye, wrenched away from her and her protests, and was out the door and into the hot sun that blared down on him like an awful eye.


	2. Daze

First thing’s first, Ralph thought. 

He went to his assigned bunk and dropped his belongings off. Didn’t have much, but to add to the whole lot of nothing, he’d gotten two uniforms to use interchangeably from the bored-eyed lady at the front desk. Her gum had smelled of strawberries and it’d made him realise his hunger, and that spurred him to take a tour round the training facility and hopefully find a place to eat.

The layout was pretty straightforward. There was a wing with the sleeping quarters and showers, and then a hall with a number of offices. Further down was the cafeteria, and it was in the cafeteria that he found himself staring out a wide window at the training grounds. 

The cafeteria was closed aside from a snack bar, so he’d gotten himself a blueberry muffin and found a spot at a squat table. He’d rested his feet on the window sill, since it was at perfect height to do so, and teetered on the chair’s two back legs.

Some recruits were training in the field. Wind sprints. He’d likely not get to know these particular guys well, since they weren’t rookies like him. 

The evening was warm and the recruits were etched in sweat. Ralph zoned out on them, found himself breathing a little harder as if out of empathy, imagined the muscles in his legs working to slow down and speed up with the traction under his boots. He wanted to train, too. He’d sat for most of the day, watching trees and marshes flash by, and he was itching to move.

He abruptly stood but was met with resistance and a sharp pain in the side of his head.

“Ey.”

Ralph blinked at the man beside him. He was older and built of solid muscle. He had dark, buzzed hair and solemn eyes, and was holding his chin—which must’ve been what   
Ralph had smacked into.

Currently, the man was staring down at a croissant on the floor at their feet. 

Ralph looked back and forth between the man and the croissant.

“Why in the hell did you get up like that?” The man sounded sad despite his accusatory words.

“Uh.” Ralph rubbed the side of his throbbing head. “I was gonna go for a run?”

The man looked incredulous. “And I was gonna say ‘howdy’ but—”

“I wasn’t expecting someone to come sneaking up behind me.”

“I wasn’t doin’ no sneakin’, you shit.”

Ralph laughed despite himself, and the man sputtered.

“You laughin’ at me?”

Ralph held up a hand. “No, no. It’s just funny.”

“What is? Me?”

“No, man, the way we ran into each other.” 

“Pain’s funny, is it?”

“I’m Ralph.” Ralph slipped his hands in his pockets with a friendly grin, and for some reason the man flinched. Now that Ralph was over the pain, he wasn’t so caught off guard. This guy wasn’t good with jokes, was he? But he’d come over to say ‘hi’ so he probably was a decent person.

“My croissant.” The man looked longingly at the fallen pastry.

“I’ll get you another, you big baby.” Ralph patted the man’s chest as he walked by.

The man followed him back to the cashier: a boy of about fourteen who seemed to have a permanent sour expression.

“Name’s Harvey,” the man mumbled.

Ralph traded some change for a croissant and held it out to Harvey. “You been here long?”

“No, first day’s tomorrow.”

“Huh? You’re a new recruit, too?”

Harvey picked at the croissant for a moment, and then took an experimental bite. “Damn, that is good.”

Most boys who enrolled were eighteen—or nineteen, like Ralph, if they had an early birthday—but this guy was at least twenty-five. What sort of circumstances led to that? It wasn’t Ralph’s business, so he didn’t ask. 

He walked back to the fallen croissant, picked it up, and tossed it out. Time for that run.

* * *

Nightfall hit, and most of the other trainees had settled in. There was a greenness to the other boys and a handful were eager to socialise, flocking from person to person to see who else shared their extroversion. Some kept to themselves, while others introduced themselves to their neighbours to be polite. A couple were already asleep.

Ralph came back from the showers and found he had to climb over limbs and squeeze past bodies until he finally reached his bed. His bunk mate was named Brenner, but after the initial hello’s, he’d left to “get some air” and hadn’t come back in some time. Harvey, who was apparently Ralph’s neighbour, was engaged in a game of cards with his own bunk mate. They both had loud, abrasive laughs and because of this, had gathered a small crowd to watch.

Ralph shared his bunk with some strangers who’d gotten themselves comfortable to watch.

“Ah, sorry mate, you mind?” one asked, gesturing to the bed beneath them.

“Nah, s’all right. Who’s winning?”

A boy to his right, pinned to his shoulder, spoke in his ear for lack of proximity. “The big guy. Wonder what his story is? He’s older, inne?”

The two boys both spoke at the same time in each of Ralph’s ears.

“Whup!” the boy on the right said. “I’m Philip.”

The boy on the left pointed at his own chest like he was very proud. “I’m Rory. My bunk’s just down that way.”

“An’ I’m beside ya’, over here.”

Ralph looked between the two as they spoke. “I’m—well, here. I’m Ralph.”

“Nice to meet ya’.”

“Say, Ralph, you ever shot a rifle before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Shit, me neither. Rory has, though, haven’t ya’ Ror?”

“Mmm, yeah, but my aim’s kinda shoddy. Got a few geese, though.”

They chattered away, lost in their excitement, and a faint familiarity stirred in Ralph. He could barely recall the texture of the makeshift spear he’d crafted, nor the slick feel of torn skin and blood on the pads of his fingers. A rifle was totally different. A rifle was a far-ranged weapon where he did not have to touch the thing he aimed to kill. It would be very, very different.

“So, have ya’ killed before?” Philip said.

Ralph jerked out of his own thoughts and peered at Philip in confusion.

“Have ya’ killed anything, mate?”

“Wh—what?”

“What you spacing out for?” Rory chimed in. “I was talking bout how my dad taught me to shoot geese and the like, but I’ll bet fighting a human’s a whole different thing.”

“Well, no shit it is, you dork.” Philip’s laugh was more like a snort.

Ralph laughed uneasily. 

The two boys quieted down and stared at him.

Ralph hesitated. “Oh. No, I haven’t.”

“What the _hell_ was that ominous pause?” Rory spoke as if astonished. “Don’t _do_ that, mate.”

Ralph made himself smile. “I spaced out, is all.”

He played with his hands, around his fingernails, like washing the blood out from beneath them in the ocean. A touch of lightheadedness hit him. 

He arched his neck back to alleviate stiffness and something flashed in his line of vision. A glimpse, a shadow, a face in the crowd that probably should’ve blended, by all accounts, but it stood out the way a flame stood out in the dark, as if it was the only thing to exist.

Blue eyes. Pale skin and dotting freckles. 

Ralph searched, his gaze flitting through the crowd, point to point, face to face. The thrumming of his pulse pooled in his ears.

He rubbed his eyes. Great. Now he was seeing things. Like he wasn’t messed up enough.


	3. Hunger

Ralph was in shape, partially from self-motivation and partially from working in a warehouse, but this shit was tough.

The drill sergeant, MacDonald, had to be a sadist. 

Ralph was draped in sweat, his uniform sticking to his skin like it couldn’t get enough of him. He’d run the course three times now, ahead of the others for the most   
part. The only other recruits that matched him were Harvey and a boy who Ralph hadn’t met yet. Harvey seemed to go on through pure determination, while the stranger was like a jaguar. 

Ralph was feeling faint by the time the drill finally ended. It was like getting punished for being in shape. What the hell was that about? He’d thought, once he’d finished the course, he could rest and wait for the others to finish. But no. MacDonald had ordered him and the other two to “do it again, then, until the rest finish.”

“Man, army logic is horseshit.” Harvey removed his helmet and wiped at his forehead. At least Ralph wasn’t the only one sweating like a pig.

He, too, unclasped his helmet and held it at his hip. He ran his fingers through his wet hair with a grimace. 

“Finish off with fifty sit-ups, rookies, and then break for lunch,” MacDonald said.

Ralph meant to gracefully sit, but his legs betrayed him and he flopped unsophisticatedly onto the grass. Harvey simpered at him and settled down beside him, while the stranger sat on his other side and went to work without hesitation. Ralph couldn’t help but admire the boy’s stamina.

He, too, did what was demanded, and his stomach burned until the last sit-up.

He lay spread-eagle in the grass at the end, staring up at the sky. The breeze hit his face and tangled through his hair and he shut his eyes. It felt nice. He wanted a shower but the day was not close to being done. He stretched his legs out, and then his arms, imagining something was pulling him to do it.

When his eyes opened, he found the stranger leering over him and he jerked in alarm.

Ralph’s mind went white.

The boy had removed his helmet. 

“It _is_ you,” the boy said, enthralled.

His red hair was cut short on the sides, but fuller at the top with stray strands that fell over his forehead. He had a slight dusting of freckles along his nose, and blue eyes so bright they pierced. The resemblance to the nutty little shit on the island made Ralph want to deck the stranger.

But then the words the boy had spoken processed.

Ralph faltered.

“Ralph. It’s you, ain’t it?” The stranger’s voice was familiar in a vague way. The way he spoke, proper but vulgar at the same time, like he was forever biting back an insult. 

Ralph sat upright at once, and the boy leaned away as to not collide heads.

Silence welled. Ralph was acutely aware the other rookies were already trodding back inside the barracks. It was just Ralph and this strange boy whom Ralph could not seem to gather his wits around.

“C’mon.” The boy gave a laugh that looked like it hurt. “It’s me, man.”

He did not look like the kid from back then. That boy’s features had somehow looked almost misshapen, but this stranger fit his features too naturally. It was entirely possible to grow into features, but—still, this wasn’t real. This just wasn’t real. Where was the cruel lines in his face, then? The toxicity of his expression, and the permanent sneer?

Why did this person in front of him look free of any weight at all? Like he was at perfect peace?

Ralph didn’t want the name that was tingling on his tongue to be put in place. That would, maybe, make it real. But what Ralph also did not understand was the friendliness. The pure lack of common sense.

“You mute or got amnesia or somethin’?” The redhead cocked his head. “Jack Merridew ring any bells?”

Ralph stared at him, dumb, and then snapped.

His fist was flying before he could think it over. The satisfying crack of the connection from his fist to Jack’s jaw made his heart jump in delight. He was on top of the shithead in the next moment, holding him by his collar and reveling in the mark of red that was trickling from his nose.

“Hey, um, ow?” Jack said.

Ralph gave him a violent shake and then slammed him down into the grass. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jack made a pitiful sound. “Isn’t that my line?”

Ralph flung himself off Jack as if he’d been burned. He kicked dirt onto him and then spun around, rubbing at his bruised knuckles. “Get the hell away from me.”

He couldn’t process this. This wasn’t real. Jack wasn’t here because that would be absolutely ridiculous. What were the odds? There was just—just no bloody way.

He had to get out of here.

But before he could stalk away, something wrapped around his ankle and the next minute he was spinning. His back hit the ground and he gasped, winded.

Jack was over him, now, pinning him. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?” 

Ralph thought he might hyperventilate. The nerve of this piece of—

Jack leaned in closer, eyes vibrant with something innate and wrong—there the cracks were, Ralph realised with a stone in his stomach—and then Jack’s lips crawled into a smile. “I’m over the moon at meeting you again. Why the hate?”

Ralph opened and closed his mouth in disbelief, and then shook his head. “You—you—”

“Use your words, Ralph.”

“You tried to kill me, you fuckface.”

Jack frowned. “That’s subjective.”

“What?” Ralph paused, and then spluttered. “What?”

“Subjec—”

“You threw a spear at my head.”

“Well—”

“And hunted me like I was game.”

“Ah—”

“And burned a bloody forest down in blind fucking rage.”

They stared at each other.

“Like I said,” Jack said in a perfectly reasonable tone, “subjective.”

“What the hell is subjective about any of that?” Ralph’s voice was near hysteria. He knew Jack was a loon, but this cognitive dissonance act was beyond help.

“Honestly, what are the odds we’d meet here?” Jack chattered.

“Can you get _off?_ ”

“I can’t have you darting off like a scared rabbit, Ralph.” Jack spoke in a no-duh tone.

Ralph could not formulate a rational, calm thought and opted to just lay there fuming.

Jack added, “You punched me. I gotta get you back, don’t I?”

Ralph raised his eyebrows. “You gotta get _me_ back?”

“Oh, take a joke. Talk about holding a grudge.” Jack’s weight lifted off, and he stood up. “We were kids.” He held out his hand to Ralph.

Ralph ignored it and got up on his own.

“Ow, though.” Jack wiped at his nose, smearing blood. “You hit me pretty—hey!”

Ralph was striding to the barracks determined to get as much distance between him and Jack as possible. He had unwillingly imagined meeting Jack again, in real life, in dreams, in some fashion or another, but never had this particular scenario occurred to him. He expected Jack to be antagonistic, awful, psychotic, bitter, vengeful—even apologetic, maybe—but to act like _nothing amiss in particular_ had happened? 

“Wait!”

No way in hell was he waiting for—

Ralph yelped when he was abruptly shoved into the wall next to the entrance. Jack had whirled him around and was once again pinning him. Ralph made to shove him off, but Jack doubled down his body weight and Ralph found himself trapped and gulping in what little air Jack allowed him. 

“Ralph.” Jack’s voice was solemn. “What part of ‘over the moon’ don’t you get?”

Ralph’s thoughts shuffled, frantic like the wings of a startled bird. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

“Don’t you dream about it?” Jack’s nose was almost touching Ralph’s, and Ralph stared into his eyes as if they were a vortex to someplace mad. Ralph became hyper-aware of the sweat that still clung to him. They breathed into each other, stared into each other, like they were part of the same existential organism. 

“About what?” But Ralph already knew what Jack was talking about.

Ralph felt the heat of the fire on his skin, but more than that: he tasted the wild boar meat on his tongue and how nothing had ever tasted like that since. The blood that ran down his throat. The feel of skin beneath his fingernails. The madness that had highjacked his mind, and Jack, at the centre of it all, calling it on and not letting it stop. 

Ralph became aware of himself panting.

“Yeah.” Smug satisfaction crossed Jack’s face. “There it is.”

Ralph tried to collect himself but he might as well have been suffocating.

Jack pushed off. “See you around.”

Ralph was faintly aware of the barracks’ door opening and shutting as Jack went inside, but his focus was on the thrashing of his heart and the dryness in his mouth. He was suddenly so ravenous he felt like he might die.


	4. Agitate

Ralph slept like a corpse and dreamt wild.

Of Simon, stroking his arm and smiling shyly. Of Simon, bashfully bashing into a tree and getting even more flustered. Of Simon, experimentally touching the hairs on the back of Ralph’s neck, a tickling sensation, and Ralph feeling himself get hard and not understanding why.

He dreamt of Simon sinking into him, fluid but solid like a cozy blanket, and their mouths meeting. They kissed and rubbed each other, gasping into each other’s mouths, lips fleeting and then flush—before Ralph pulled away and froze.

Simon’s lips were torn and blood dribbled down his chin. He pawed at his mangled mouth, and Ralph shakily put a hand to his own teeth to feel the threads of skin he’d peeled off.

“I’m sorry.” Ralph’s voice was murky. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Why did you stop, Ralph?” Simon reached for him, pulling his face close—

—and Ralph snapped awake, eyes wide, stars dancing in his vision. He wriggled, gave a raspy sigh, and then touched himself to confirm what was making him feel so sick.   
He clenched his eyes shut, and then rolled over onto his side, cradling his head with both hands. “Fuck, Ralph, what’s the goddamn matter with you?” 

He recalled the soreness in his body from training, how every effort hurt, and remembered he was not alone. He couldn’t just start talking to himself like a crazy   
person. He opened his eyes and searched in the dim-lit sleeping quarters for any other open eyes, particularly Harvey’s, but Harvey seemed sound asleep.

Jack’s reappearance. Had that, too, been a dream?

He touched himself again, eyes half-lidded, dozing a little despite the heat under his hand. He had dreams like that a lot. Should’ve been used to them, but he doubted he ever would be—because what would that say about him? If he actually let himself get off to that shit?

He turned over onto his back and draped an arm over his face. 

He fell back asleep to the sound of a crackling fire that was only in his head.

* * *

“Morning, Ralphy.” 

Every fibre of Ralph tensed slow and meticulous, and then he let off a shudder.

Jack sat across from him at breakfast with a cheeky grin. 

Ralph chewed at his eggs like an unimpressed camel. Maybe Jack would leave him be if he pretended to be a slob or something?

Jack was not deterred. “We’re doing the same circuit today, I heard,” he said. “Bet you can’t beat me today.”

“Do you think I give a rat’s ass?” 

“Of course you do.” Jack played with one of the loose strands of hair that fell in front of his forehead. “Because we’re going to make a bet.”

It took all of Ralph’s sanity not to flip the contents of his plate onto Jack’s face. He would need the energy from this meal for today, after all. 

“What do you want if you win?”

“For you to forever leave me alone, Merridew.”

“Gotcha. If I win, I get to do whatever I want with you.”

Ralph hesitated. “What does that even mean?”

“You’re an imaginative guy, aren’t you?”

“Not—no, I’m thoroughly drab, actually.”

“Aw, I don’t believe that.”

“Dumb as a post.”

Jack’s laugh was high-pitched, and Ralph recoiled at how authentic it sounded.

They sat in a silence and Ralph resisted the urge to tap his foot, hint-hint, can-you-sod-off? style. There were never going to be comfortable silences between them, so why was Jack still here acting like a bonehead?

“Did you know,” Jack began thoughtfully, “there’s no one here like us.”

No, way. He really wanted to make small-talk.

Ralph said, “What?”

“Isn’t this place close to it? To the place we wanna go back to?”

Ralph’s eyes widened and he leaned back. “Why would I want—?”

“Because you’re here for the exact reason I am.” Jack slid off the bench and came to Ralph’s side. Ralph forced himself to stay in place when Jack leaned down. “Do you remember? How we were?”

Ralph’s tone was hard. “No, gee, must’ve slipped my mind. How were we, Jack?” 

Jack laughed in Ralph’s ear and Ralph swallowed what felt like sandpaper.

“You were the only one who didn’t kneel for me.”

Ralph clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Not—not true. Pig—Piggy . . .”

“Oh, fuck that guy.” Jack straightened with a disgusted sound. 

“Why? He never did shit to you, Jack.”

“Who gives? He was weak—needed you to even get a word in. Piggy don’t count, and he never did.”

Ralph tried to hide his shaking hands. No remorse. Even after supposedly growing up, Jack felt no fucking remorse. 

Ralph stood, making sure not to face Jack in case he lost it and swung at him again. 

“Aw, did I upset ya’?” Jack followed on Ralph’s heels out of the cafeteria. “Don’t act so righteous. You don’t even know his real name. Still! After all this time, you didn’t think to check?”

“I—we lost contact—with—with anyone who’d—”

“Oh, okay, yeah.” Jack snorted. 

Ralph picked up his pace.

“Aw, come back, little rabbit.”

“Stop following me, for Christ’s sake.”

“We’re going to the same place.”

Ralph stopped and dramatically flung himself to the side. “Go a-fucking-head then.”

Jack shook his head as if Ralph was being _so_ dramatic and passed by with an infuriating smile.

* * *

Ralph had told himself it didn’t matter. The “race”. Either way, he was not going to partake in it, but before the drill started Jack had come up behind him, placed his hands on Ralph’s diaphragm, and said, “Breathe from here, Ralph, in through your nose and out through your mouth,” and then had flittered away quick as he’d come.

Ralph had spent the first half of the drill keeping just behind Jack for him to be able to fixate on the back of his head and imagine many, many unfortunate things happening—like a freak lightning bolt wrecking him, or a flock of mad birds swarming him and slowly pecking him to death. Ah, small mercies of the imagination.

During the last stretch of the course, Ralph picked up his pace. He’d been conserving energy to go all out at the end to overtake Jack. However, as soon as Ralph passed Jack, Jack barked out a laugh and pulled up alongside him.

“Here I thought you hadn’t gotten enough sleep or somethin’, Ralph.” Jack was grinning from ear to ear. “I’m glad you aren’t disappointing me.”

Ralph was not even going to award him with a reply. He focussed ahead and on his breathing—but then that annoyed him, thinking how Jack had given him unsolicited and very basic advice while having the nerve to wrap an arm around him and touch his stomach. Jack was a special kind of entitled. 

“Why so quiet?” Jack’s voice drifted. “You thinkin’ bout what my win means?”

Ralph gained speed at the last obstacle, leaping onto the grappling wall without hesitation. He scaled it using the provided ropes. He would never have a solid build like Harvey, but he had gained a lithe and athletic physique and it was this physique that allowed him to almost float if he gained enough momentum. Jack was neck in neck with him—more toned, in a way, but mostly on par using his strong leg muscles to propel him in sync with Ralph.

They cleared the wall in time with each other and landed, stirring the dirt on the other side beneath their boots.

An urgent sensation flooded Ralph. He wanted to laugh from the spark that had ignited. This was fun?

He remembered it from the time he’d first met Jack—this authoritative-but-awkward twelve-year-old with the world’s most fragile ego. The time they’d smiled at each other, friendly, admiring, connected through common understanding. I won’t step on your toes if you don’t step on mine.

That day—the first day—was suddenly so stark in his mind. 

_This is a good island._

Jack laughing as Ralph stood on his head, unable to express himself through words. The way they’d walked side-by-side, batting branches aside and looking out for one another. 

There was nothing wrong with rivalry. God, they could’ve gotten along so well, if only Jack hadn’t been such a sore loser. If only Jack hadn’t been fucking Jack, they could’ve been like this: competing in what passed as good faith, and not—

Jack curved into Ralph’s path, and Ralph instinctively jerked away, but the hesitation was enough for Jack to cross the finish before him. 

They both slowed and Ralph walked circles to cool down. Jack walked, too, further ahead, hands linked behind his head, his chest rising and falling with his harsh breaths.

“Merridew, Athuflr—good work, boys.” MacDonald was sucking on a cigar nearby. “You cleared yesterday’s course, too, quick as this.”

Jack gravitated closer to MacDonald. “You sending us off again, sir?”

“Nope. Neither of you complained yesterday when I sent you down the loop. A dedicated soldier’s a fine soldier.”

Ralph kept on with his circles.

“You two: take an early lunch.”

Ralph saluted MacDonald and trekked towards the barracks, and then hesitated and looked over his shoulder at the course. If Harvey was close to finishing, he’d wait. 

But no one was coming up anytime soon. 

He went inside the barracks, but stayed by the door. He bent, resting his hands on his knees, and breathed. His heart rate was still high.

Why did Jack always gotta ruin a good thing? He just had to piss all over everything without a rational thought.

Jack entered and wavered at seeing Ralph.

“Nah, you waited for—?”

“Jack.” Ralph peered up at Jack through strands of damp hair. “I fought to be your friend.”

The door swung shut behind Jack, and the sound was oddly deafening. Jack’s expression was closed.

“On that bloody island—”

“We were kids.”

“—I just wanted to get along.” 

Jack smirked and looked offside.

“Why are you acting like this when you hate me?” Ralph stood up straight. He could not go about his day, embark in training, with this living, walking hell of a person constantly setting a fire beneath him. “You wanted me to leave you alone back then. To fuck off, in layman’s terms. You wanted me to leave you and your cult alone.”

Jack played with his lower lip, idle.

“You wanted me to disappear,” Ralph continued. “You wanted me to die, and I know there was a strong part of you who wanted to be the one to kill me."

Jack still said nothing.

Ralph strode up to Jack, and Jack turned to face Ralph. "It wouldn't have been the same, would it? If I'd gone off and starved or drowned, or if Roger had gotten me instead of you?"

They stared at each other.

“So, what do you want?” Ralph hated hearing the exasperation in his own voice and how much he sounded like his kid-self from back then. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Jack scratched the side of his neck. “You don't listen well, do you?”

Ralph’s jaw tensed.

“Didn’t I say if I won, I’d have you do anything I wanted?”

Ralph wiped at his forehead. “I’m not playing round, Merridew.”

Jack grabbed Ralph’s wrist to check his watch, and Ralph stood still despite the painful throbbing of his heart. This was something a friend would casually do.

“Neither am I.” Jack dropped Ralph’s wrist. “We lucked out on an early lunch, so let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

* * *

 **A/N:** testosterone amiright.  
  
random note: I gave Ralph the last name Athuflr, which is from Rathuflr, so basically his name is Ralph Ralph. You're welcome.

PS: If you have time, let me know how you think the story is! Critique, comments, gushing ;) - anything is really helpful.


	5. Shock

With a smug expression, Jack flopped the stack of newspapers down on the cafeteria table in front of Ralph. He then swept his hand in a flourishing motion over them as if to say, “behold.”

Ralph paused in the middle of chewing his stew. 

Jack sat across from him and rested his chin in his hand. When Ralph peeked up at him, he lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

Ralph swallowed. “You want me to read the newspaper?”

“Mmm, I’ve marked the bits that are important.”

Jack had said Ralph was supposed to do whatever Jack wanted, but this was underwhelming. 

“Oh my god, what is with the snail’s pace? You think they’re gonna blow up or something?” Jack shoved the papers closer to Ralph. “Just take a bloody look.”

Ralph unfolded the paper on top. There, messily circled in pencil, was an article titled “Local survivor of island rescue commits suicide on the Lord’s day.” 

He frowned.

“Member Theo?”

“Uhh—”

“He went and offed himself.”

Ralph lifted his head. 

“Ironic, innit?” Jack leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Weren’t we all trying to survive out there? Then he goes and kills himself?”

Ralph said nothing.

“Go on.” Jack waved his hand.

Ralph opened the next newspaper.

“And there—Roger! He killed his own girlfriend.” Jack’s voice went so high it almost wasn’t audible: “What’s _with_ that?”

Ralph turned to the next circled article.

“Samneric are in jail for some petty theft and stuff. Kinda disappointing one, considering the last two, huh?”

Ralph was seeing stars. He lifted the newspaper and tore it down the middle, slow and unconcerned.

"Hey, stappit. I spent a long time tracking down who I could.” Jack snatched the paper back, ripping it a little more in the process. “Jeez, be considerate, will you?”

“Considerate.” Ralph said the word like it tasted sour. “Con-si-der-at.”

“It means—”

“I know what it bloody means. Do you?”

They stared at each other.

“What’s the matter now?” Jack blew a tuft of hair out of his eyes like a pouting child. “I almost forgot what a whiny wiener you can be.”

Ralph shut his eyes and splayed a hand over his face. This person. This shitty person. 

What would it take to relocate to another barracks? This one was closest to his mom and stuff, but he could travel extra miles if it meant not having to deal with Jack’s insanity every day. Ohh, what did the bliss of peace feel like again? 

Murmurs and footfalls sounded. The others must’ve finished the course. Someone exclaimed he wanted the biggest portion of stew that could fit in his face and someone said, “belly, idiot,” and Ralph wished he could’ve been dicking round with any other guys than being forced to deal with Jack’s shit.

Ralph’s appetite was shot. He knew he’d need the energy but the thought of eating now was almost morbid for some reason.

“Ralph, are you done self-reflecting?” Jack asked.

“I’m not,” Ralph whispered through barely contained rage, “self-reflecting.”

“Then what are you doing? Napping?”

Ralph dropped his hand heavier than he meant to, and some of the boys nearby glanced their way at the sound. 

“Why are you laughing?” Ralph said.

Jack faltered. “I’m—not? I’m just sitting here, Ralph. You nuts now?”

Ralph slid the pile of newspapers closer to Jack. “The articles of the others who were on the island.”

“Yeah?”

“Theo’s suicide is amusing to you, Merridick? Samneric unable to get used to society again?” Ralph’s voice sounded far away even to himself. “Roger killing someone is funny? This all just some entertainment to you?” 

Jack blinked, and then he smiled again.

Ralph recoiled. “Why? Why are you this way?”

Jack snatched Ralph’s wrist and held it down. Ralph tried to tug away, but Jack’s grip was like a vice. 

“You thinkin’ of storming off in a huff, bunny-rabbit?”

Ralph grit his teeth.

“Listen, Ralphy. I was there too. I knew’em, too. I can react however the bloody blazes I see fit.”

“Just ’cause you were there too doesn’t—”

“Not to mention,” Jack’s voice rose, and Ralph went quiet. “I looked’em all up. Some I can’t find, but the ones like these,”—he gestured to the newspapers—“I found them, and it proves my fucking point.”

There was a strain in Ralph’s throat. “There’s a _point_ you’re trying to make?”

Jack smiled again, made to speak, but then stopped. He looked to the side.

Ralph hesitated, and then looked over too. He wasn’t sure when Harvey had come to stand beside their table, his broad shoulders blocking the view of the till. His eyes were fierce and expression solemn.

“Innit a bit early to get this way?” Harvey was speaking directly to Jack. “He’s my bunk neighbour, so don’t even think’a trying any shit.”

Jack stared back at him.

“That.” Harvey nodded at Jack’s hand on Ralph’s wrist. “There ain’t no women round. He’s a purdy face. But this shit ain’t prison, you lowly fuck.”

It took Ralph a moment for the words to sink in, and he almost blurted out a laugh. He went red as he whispered, “Harvey—wait—no. He doesn’t wanna—”

But Jack yanked Ralph’s hand closer to him, and Ralph almost screamed like a child getting spooked by a shadow when Jack bit his middle finger. 

“You telling me what to do, big guy?” Jack’s voice was venom.

“Uhh—” Ralph wrestled his hand free and wiped his finger on his pants. “He’s kidding, Harvey. He has always been an arse.”

With a crease in his forehead, Harvey looked between the two. “You know each other?”

“You forgot to tell me about your bodyguard,” Jack said.

Ralph gave a deep sigh. “We’re not friends or anythin’, Harvey, but yeah we’ve met.”

“Met,” Jack said, flat.

Harvey cocked an eyebrow. “Everything good, then, Ralph?”

“Uh.” Ralph’s shoulders slumped. Not exactly, but he didn’t want to get Harvey involved in anything. “Yeah, I think.” 

“You think. Gotcha.” Harvey stepped back. “I’m watching you, ginger dog.”

Ralph and Jack watched him walk over to another table.

“What was that about?” Ralph muttered.

“Isn’t that what I should be askin’?” Jack said. “He called you pretty, Ralph. Sounds like you oughta watch out for him.”

“Why did he assume that you were—”

“Really, Ralph?”

Ralph glanced at Jack with a frown.

“Guys can get funny when they’re under stressful circumstances without any way to, ahh, vent.” Jack mimed jerking off and winked.

Ralph stared at him, blank. If Harvey saw that. Ugh. Why couldn’t Jack just be a normal bloke?

Ralph pointed in a random direction. “I’m gonna go.”

Jack tilted his head. “What’s the matter? You think I’m capable of somethin’ like that?” He paused. “With you?”

“I just want out of this conversation, is all.”

“Don’t make me hold your hand again.”

Ralph mechanically got up, flipped Jack off, and left the cafeteria with what little sanity he still had.  


* * *

  
“This, boys, is your new best pal: the Jungle Carbine,” Officer Reynolds, the man in charge of firearm training, said his first words to the recruits.

They each took one off the rack provided.

To Ralph, it felt foreign. He’d held a hunting rifle for the first time last year, but he hadn’t practiced much because it upset his mother. Anything that reminded her of the Navy or war in general didn’t sit well for her. He’d wanted to tell her the war nor the Navy had killed her husband, but instead humans had. It was all just humans, and they weren’t something that could be avoided.

But, of course, that was not a comforting thing to say.

He carried the rifle back to his spot in line, testing the weight of it. He then lifted it onto his shoulder, wedging it in place, and aimed it out at the empty field towards the line of trees in the distance.

“The newest instalment of the Lee-Enfield series,” Reynolds was saying from somewhere. “Ol’ Jungle’s been designed for the airforce and you lad’s are lucky enough that we’ve got some spares for training.”

Rory appeared in Ralph’s peripheral vision. “Ey, you! So you do know how to shoot.”

“Mm?” Ralph straightened, holding the rifle at neutral. “Nah.”

“You’re holdin’ that pretty cozy, though?” Rory snickered. He then adopted a similar stance Ralph had been in, aiming his own rifle out to the trees. “I mean, your form. You’ve had to have held’un before.”

Ralph surveyed the grass. There was a puddle down yonder, and above it tendrils of mist spread like ghosts being pulled apart. 

“I’m bad at it,” Ralph decided.

“Men, at attention, would you? This ain’t the be time to be bloody goofin’.” Reynolds’ tone was whiplash.

Rory relaxed the gun and he and Ralph faced Officer Reynolds.

The officer launched into some rifle history lesson that Ralph found himself tuning out. He was aware of the weight from the rifle, so conscious of it he thought he might do something stupid like drop it despite having a firm grip. It was an ethereal feeling: like his fingers were numb and he couldn’t gauge the strength of his grip. He thought to loosen his hands, just to see, just to see if it would drop.

He brushed a thumb along it, taking in the smooth texture, and breathed out through his nose.

“Ralphy,” came a whisper.

Oh, bloody hell.

“You hold your dick like you holdin’ that rifle?” Jack was suddenly shoulder-to-shoulder with him for some unfathomable reason. “You look like you like it.”

Rory, having overheard, tittered like a dweeb.

“My,” Ralph whispered back, “aren’t we full of projection this afternoon, Jackass?”

Jack’s soft tone turned deeper, more languid. “You better believe holding this thing gets me going.” He then snapped his teeth in Ralph’s ear and Ralph mentally kicked himself for getting startled. “The things we could do with these, huh?”

“Like send the butt of this thing straight up your own arse, Merridew?”

Jack mock-fanned himself. “Oh, please, I can only get so turned on.”

Reynolds finished demonstrating, and then ordered the boys to hit the targets in a ditch nearby. Ralph trekked through the grass, the fog dispersing around his legs, while Jack and Rory followed suit.

Ralph inserted earplugs and Jack hesitated and did the same, as if only now remembering what they were here for.

Ralph aimed as sweat trickled down his neck. It was muggy this evening and he disliked being covered in dry sweat from this morning’s circuit, and now this new sheen, too. Luckily his hands weren’t clammy and the grip of the rifle wasn’t sacrificed.

“Higher, Ralphy.” Jack knocked the barrel of Ralph’s rifle upwards and Ralph’s jaw tensed.

“Hey, hey.” Rory took aim beside Ralph. “Jack, was it? You wanna not fool round for a sec? These things pack a punch.”

“My bad, my bad.” Jack also took aim, his stance confident. Ralph could see from the corner of his eye that Jack was smiling wide as if something unexpected had enthralled him. They both took the safety off at the same time, and then Ralph closed one eye, exhaled softly, and—

They shot at the same time and despite the ear protection, Ralph’s ears rang. Deafening. A few more shots splintered the air as the other boys hit or missed their targets.

“Shit.” Jack lowered his rifle and it rattled a little in his hands.

Ralph frowned. Jack was shaking.

He looked down at his own hands. He was steady.

Hah, idiot. It took all his willpower not to gloat.

“You miss, or something?” Ralph raised his gun again, trying his best to sound monotonous.

“No. No, way. I didn’t miss.”

“Then what was the ‘shit’ for?”

“It’s fun.” Jack’s voice was light. “This is so bloody fun.”

Ralph balked at the childish glee Jack wasn’t even bothering to hide. Ralph side-eyed him, standing perfectly still. 

Jack bounded to his side and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Ahh—watch it—the safety isn’t—”

“Come on, Ralphy.” Jack gripped him hard and Ralph was sure he was going to leave him bruised. “How did that feel?”

Ralph shrugged him off. “Loud.”

“Powerful.” Jack murmured, more to himself than Ralph. “Fucking power.”

“I would’ve thought—” Ralph repositioned himself and shot without hesitation, “—that this wouldn’t be intimate enough for you.”

Jack stood next to him, expression closed. Ralph lowered his rifle and peered at him. 

“You’re right.” Jack said it without much concern. A flitter of wind sent the collar of his uniform rippling against his neck, and the stray strands of hair that fell on his forehead skirted carelessly along his forehead. 

Jack went back to his target without another word. He practiced for the rest of the drill, diligent and focused.

Although Jack did not engage him further, Ralph felt attuned to Jack either way. Attuned to Jack’s sighs and the pleased sounds he made after a shot, and, of course: the gunshots themselves.

* * *

Reynolds dismissed the recruits, but he permitted them to continue practicing if they pleased. The sky was intermingling reds and oranges, bleeding like a wound towards the darkening blue. 

It was then, when Reynolds and the majority of the rookies had disappeared inside the barracks, that Jack pointed his Jungle Carbine to the side of Ralph’s head.

Ralph stilled.

Philip was the first to take note. His freckled face contorted in confusion and then panic. “Whoa! Whoa-whoa-whoa, lads.”

Rory gave a tiny, theatrical gasp that—despite the situation—Ralph almost laughed at. “Jack, that ain’t funny. Cut it out.”

Ralph waited.

Jack said, “Look at me, Ralph.”

Ralph faced him. Having the barrel pointing straight at him, face on, right between his eyes hit him like a slap. His hands, first. Shaking. Then his legs. The unevenness of his breath. His heartbeat palpitated at a steady thud and the longer Jack held the gun to his face, the faster his heart rate accelerated and the harsher it beat until it felt like he was going to puke it up. 

“Ah.” Jack’s lips crawled into a strange smile. “I remember that look.”

“Jack, fella!” Philip had a hand out like he was trying to soothe a wildcat. “This ain’t a good joke.”

“Uh, yeah? It’s dangerous?” Rory said, like he really thought Jack did not know that.

Jack was peering at Ralph like he was trying to dissect him. His mouth was slightly parted in his focus, and Ralph had the sick suspicion Jack was trying memorize Ralph’s reaction.

Jack made an unconcerned noise in the back of his throat. “Relax, you two. I ain’t gonna do anything and you know it.” His head slowly tipped to the side. “We’ve got these things in our hands, yeah? Y’know what these are used for?”

“Uh. It’s killing,” Rory said. “They’re used for killing.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “And who are we—what right do we have—to have never have looked down the barrel of a gun? Huh?” 

Ralph concentrated on his breathing. In, out, calm and deep. He had to concentrate but his mind kept pulling him back into the stark reality. That, and also that time years ago when a spear had almost finished him off before he could even fully understand what the life he had meant. 

His skin burned as a fire crackled in either of his ears, digging straight through his eardrums and bursting in his skull like sparking sticks.

“Don’t we gotta know what it’s like on the receiving end, if we’re gonna be pointing these things at others?” Jack said.

Philip and Rory were silent.

Ralph knew this feeling already. Knew it etched into every fucking part of his psyche. He did not need this lesson because Jack had already embedded it into him and it haunted his everything. 

Jack lowered the gun, finally, and Ralph let out a shaking exhale.

“So?” Jack’s grin was cheeky. “What was it like? A rush, innit?”

Ralph’s hand drifted to his chest as he stared at nothing in front of him. It felt like his head might cave in. He didn’t want Jack to see how much that had affected him, but by god it had. He wanted to cry. He wanted to fold into himself and sob like a child. 

He kept his eyes wide to prevent tears from falling.

He straightened. Kept his back and shoulders rigid and lifted his arms. Aimed his rifle at Jack and stood eerily still. 

Distantly, he heard Philip and Rory speaking to him, but he ignored them. They were white noise, annoying and scattered. Just a teensy noise that would not fucking shut up.

Jack was smiling, self-assured. Ralph reveled in Jack’s confidence, in that way about him that screamed he felt safe and secure in a corrupt world he believed he had total control over. Jack was the hunter, after all, and whoever could hurt the hunter?

Ralph smiled back, and Jack faltered.

Ralph pulled the trigger.

The resultant silence was like an electric shock. Chaos in the air and then a painful—beautiful—fizzling—quiet.

Jack was shock-still, eyes wide and face paling while his blood ran to his central nervous system. Ralph assumed Jack’s poor brain was fighting to process.

The bullet had grazed the side of Jack’s head where a thin trickle of blood ran down his ear, leaving a trail like an unsteady brush stroke.

Ralph spun round. Philip and Rory shuffled out of his way, jaws agape, as he passed and made his way back to the barracks without another word.


End file.
